Snow blanketed the Reinhaiver estate in a soft white silence, muting the world as if nature itself dared not disturb the miracle unfolding within. Lanterns burned low with warm golden light, and frost traced elegant lines across the windowpanes of the manor's upper chamber. Inside, hushed voices murmured like prayers as Lady Evelyne Reinhaiver, Duchess of the North, brought forth new life into the world.
It was just past the midnight hour when the cries pierced the stillness, sharp and full of breath. Not weak, not frail—powerful. The room held its breath.
V whispered, awestruck. "Strong lungs. Strong aura."
Duke Alric Reinhaiver stepped forward, armor half-unbuckled from having ridden straight from the northern wall. He knelt beside the bed, brushing aside his wife's sweat-damp hair and clasping her hand as she cradled the newborn to her chest.
"Zephyr," Evelyne murmured. "Zephyr Reinhaiver."
The name settled into the air like a vow.
A strange chill passed through the room—not from the snow, but from the child himself. The torches dimmed slightly. Shadows, long and thin, seemed to gather toward the cradle as if drawn by an unseen breath. The attending mages exchanged uneasy glances.
"His mana… it's already awakening," one whispered.
Lady Evelyne only smiled. "He will grow to master it. Just as we did."
Alric rose, towering and broad-shouldered, yet his eyes softened as he took his son in his arms. He studied the boy's storm-gray eyes—unusual, even for noble blood—and the faint whorls of dark mana already flickering behind them.
"You were born under a twilight moon, boy," he said quietly. "May your heart never forget the warmth of the light... even when the shadows claim you."
---
By morning, the estate stirred with restrained celebration. Snowfall in the north was common, but the storm that passed in the night had been rare—quiet, moonless, and unending. Superstition whispered that such storms heralded change.
Couriers rode through the city of Vellmere with news: the Duke's heir was born. A feast was ordered for the coming week. Within the manor, preparations began for a traditional northern blessing ceremony, in which the newborn's mana affinity would be formally tested and recorded into House Reinhaiver's sealed codices.
In the nursery, the infant Zephyr slept soundly, unaware of the stir he had already caused. A soft warmth radiated from him, yet his presence seemed to deepen every shadow that touched the corners of the room. The candlelight dimmed near his crib, flickered uneasily.
His older sister, Lyra Reinhaiver, ten years his senior and already gifted in ice magic, peeked over the crib's railing with wide violet eyes.
"He's so small," she whispered. "Like a sleeping puff of snow."
The boy stirred, as if in response. His tiny fingers curled, and for a heartbeat, a wisp of darkness twined between them—like smoke, but heavier. Lyra blinked.
Then she smiled.
"Don't worry, little brother," she whispered, resting a hand beside his. "No matter what they say... I'll protect you. Always."
She stood there longer than she needed to, silent in thought. Lyra remembered what her mother had once said: that darkness, like ice, was not evil. Only cold. And cold could preserve, protect, endure. Maybe Zephyr's darkness was like that. Maybe he wasn't born cursed.
Later that day, a long line of nobles and merchants arrived to offer tributes. In the grand hall, Alric and Evelyne greeted them with composed grace, while retainers organized the ceremonial ledger. Lyra stood beside her brother's crib, protective even in his sleep.
One noblewoman, cloaked in sapphire and fur, leaned close and peered at the infant. "Storm-gray eyes," she murmured. "A rare shade. In old texts, such eyes belonged to seers... or executioners."
Lady Evelyne's voice was soft, but unyielding. "He will be neither. He will be Zephyr Reinhaiver."
That evening, the wind howled again across the rooftops, and the manor's tower bell rang once—no reason, no hand. Superstitions stirred, but the family paid no mind.
---
By the third night, the priest of the imperial temple arrived in his snow-dappled robes, bearing the sacred seal for the blessing rite. He moved with quiet authority and observant eyes. When he entered the nursery and approached Zephyr's crib, he paused.
Something pressed against him—like standing too close to a storm's heart.
He blinked once, placed a single rune on the child's brow, and completed the rite in record time. Afterward, he spoke little, only murmured a vague blessing and took his leave before dawn.
Outside, snowflakes fell like ash.
In the nursery, Zephyr stirred again. His breath fogged the air, and shadows curled up beside him, reaching with long, silent fingers.
But he did not cry.
He smiled.
And the wind outside shifted, just slightly—as if it, too, had drawn a breath.
In the heavens, the moon still hung pale and full, its edge tinged faintly in red—a subtle omen few would notice, and fewer would remember.
But in the shadows behind the nursery door, something watched. Not malevolent. Not yet.
Simply... curious.
---